The phone rings on a quiet Sunday afternoon, and it’s my mom. My heart feels both full of love and heavy with unease. Every time I pick up, I brace myself. I know I’ll need a breather afterward. Loving her feels like a workout that leaves me both fulfilled and drained.
### The Weight of Love
Conversations with her often become circular. She talks about the neighbor’s parking habits or how her friends didn’t respond quickly enough. Each complaint hits me like a wave, and I feel myself getting tired—not because I don’t care, but because the emotional effort to engage is exhausting.
I listen and validate her feelings, but after about an hour, my energy starts to dip. It’s like trying to charge a phone that just won’t hold a battery.
### Balancing Time and Guilt
How do you know how much time to spend with someone who makes you feel drained? Is an hour and a half enough? Especially when I know I’ll need the rest of the day to regroup.
Years ago, when my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, I learned about anticipatory grief. But there’s a different kind of sorrow that comes with still having your parent around while feeling the relationship change. The guilt of wanting to set boundaries feels like a betrayal, even if it’s something I have to do for my own well-being.
It can be hard to talk to friends about it. Saying, “I can only handle talking to my mom for a short time,” sounds harsh but sometimes that’s the truth.
### Patterns of Emotional Strain
I sometimes wonder if this tendency to lean on each other emotionally is passed down through generations. My mom took on her mother’s worries, and now they’re being spilled onto me. Are we all just handing down our unresolved emotions like family treasures no one wants?
As I think about my own kids, I worry. Will they one day pull away from me, measuring their calls based on their emotional stamina? The idea scares me.
I’ve been more aware of my conversational habits. It’s surprisingly easy to fall into negativity. Complaining can feel like an easy way to connect, but it can also drain you.
### Finding New Ways to Love
I’ve tried to redefine what loving my mom looks like now. Sometimes love means keeping a healthy distance. It doesn’t mean cutting ties but finding a balance that protects us both.
I think carefully about when to call her. I aim for mid-morning after I’ve had my coffee. During our chats, I steer the focus toward happy memories. While these talks often bring up loss, we occasionally find joy together, even if it’s fleeting.
### The Complex Nature of Love
Virginia Woolf once wrote about losing faith in human connections, yet she continued to reach out. That duality makes sense to me now. Loving someone who is difficult involves changing who you are around them, often putting up walls that shouldn’t exist between family.
Just last week, I sat in silence after a long call filled with complaints. The waves of guilt washed over me. She needs me—she’s lonely and aging. But I can’t be her entire world; I shouldn’t have to shoulder that weight alone.
### Final Thoughts
If any of this resonates with you, know you’re not alone. Navigating love for our parents alongside self-preservation is a complex emotional task. The guilt, frustration, tenderness—they coexist in a truth that can feel uncomfortable: sometimes, the people who give us the most are the hardest to be around.
Tomorrow, when she calls, I’ll pick up. I’ll share my time with her, and afterward, I’ll sit with the exhaustion and the love, letting both feelings exist together. That’s what adult love can often look like: it’s not about choosing one feeling over another but making space for all the complexities they bring.
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